


Hush

by yeaka



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28970358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Annie’s late to the study room.
Relationships: Annie Edison/Jeff Winger, Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Comments: 10
Kudos: 81





	Hush

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Community or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

By the time Annie finds the last book on her list—the reading log for her Literally Just Reading class—Greendale’s halls are halfway empty and _almost_ calm. There are still a few puddles from the indoor rainstorm and splotches of left over paintball pinks and blues on the lockers, but most of the student body’s gone home for the night, and the Dean’s midnight rave hasn’t started yet. It’s actually kind of nice to walk back to the study room without having to mill through overbooked students and put up with the broken bell that’s been triple-ringing all week. Sure, it’s gotten dark outside, not _scary_ dark but just sort of romantic-sunset-y, but it’s not like she has to walk home alone in it. She has two great friends waiting for her, even though she knew combing their cesspool of a library for a lengthy list would take her way past normal hours. 

Troy and Abed insisted on waiting anyway, which is why they’re currently tied for second place in the imaginary study-group rankings in her head. Which she’d never say aloud, of course. If asked, she’d insist she likes them all equally, even though they probably know that she’d take a bullet just a _little_ bit faster for Jeff than maybe Britta, who still hasn’t apologized for getting mustard on her Remedial Pajama Science essay.

She makes it back to the study room in record time, which is impressive given how heavy the books are making her backpack. She gets through it by picturing Troy heroically coming to her rescue, hiking them up on one broad shoulder and flexing a bit before carrying her books home. She half expects him to get up and help out the second she goes through the door. The rest of her expects to find a dry run of tomorrow’s _Troy and Abed in the Morning_ episode. Or maybe the two of them beat boxing. Or maybe wrestling with Annie’s Boobs over a pen, in which case she’ll have to hurriedly chase the furry critter back into the vents, because she can’t have such an awful namesake out and about again.

Except the study room is silent. Or as silent as anything can be at Greendale—there’s still the faint _pop pop_ of Magnitude’s hum in the distance. Otherwise, it’s eerily seren. And Troy and Abed aren’t eagerly sitting at the table. It takes her a second to spot them, because they’re not sitting up at all.

They’re lying on the couch. Just the one couch. Together. They’re both on their sides, Troy up against the backrest, Abed at the end of the cushions, the two of them perfectly lined up like two slices of bread in a toaster. Except without the metal divider between. More like specialty Lego pieces designed to fit only with each other. Troy’s even got his arm slung over Abed’s waist, the other under Abed’s head, Abed’s cheek resting on his folded elbow. When Annie lets out an involuntary, “ _Aw_ ,” Abed’s chin twitches, but he doesn’t stir. Judging by the looks on their faces, they’re both fast and blissfully asleep. With each other. Practically cuddling. Annie has to consciously keep her jaw clenched to not _aw_ again. And then she debates whether or not to pull out her phone and get a picture, because Shirley and Britta would want to _aw_ over it too. 

Practically speaking, it’s not _quite_ late enough to conk out for the night. But it’s not like they haven’t all stayed overnight at school before. And even though she quietly shuffles close enough to shake them, she can’t bring herself to actually do it. They’re too cute to wake up. They’re _so_ cute. And they look oddly comfortable, even though they’re both too tall for the loveseat and have their legs curled up and tangled. 

Her books are heavy as hell, but she can suffer a little bit of fire and brimstone for her roomies. Creeping across the study room, she plucks a shred of paper out of the pile of the day’s discarded ideas, where the group had sincerely tried to come up with a pitch for their Pie Charts of Dioramas class. Crossing out Jeff’s half-ass depiction of a literal pie, Annie scribbles out a note explaining her absence. Then she crosses that out and starts again, flipping the paper over and writing instead:

_Dear Troy and Abed, don’t worry about me; Inspector Spacetime came by and gave me a ride home. I didn’t want to wake you up because there wasn’t room in the spaceship. See you in the morning. –Annie._

She leaves the note on top of Abed’s bag, then, stalling so she doesn’t have to pick up her own bag again, she doodles a man on the side of it that’s supposed to be Kickpuncher. Except in the morning he’ll probably tell her that it doesn’t look anything like Kickpuncher. And then she’ll just smile and put up with the nonsense because her boys are the _cutest_.

Thinking of cute boys, she plops down at the desk with her bag and decides to text Jeff—maybe he can give her a ride back, or better yet, come on foot and hike her books up on his broad shoulder and give her a sexy flex. She gets a show, he gets to show off, and Abed and Troy get to keep enjoying their probably shared fever dream. 

Everybody wins at Greendale.


End file.
